


we're not who we used to be

by writing_way_too_much



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (the dursleys), First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Set during Order of the Phoenix, can u believe i write barely anything for months and then bang this out in like an hour, harry has So Much ptsd, is it spoiling the fic to say:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25174291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_way_too_much/pseuds/writing_way_too_much
Summary: Harry sits down heavily on his bed, staring at the back of his right hand. He finally takes a spare shirt and wraps it around it, soaking up the blood, applying pressure to the wound.I must not tell lies.He doesn’t even really know what to think. There’s just the dull hatred of Umbridge, the dull fear of Voldemort, the dull worry about Hagrid and Sirius. Dull. Dull. Dull.--alternately: Harry's having a rough time. Ron helps, a little.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ron Weasley
Comments: 40
Kudos: 381





	we're not who we used to be

**Author's Note:**

> can u believe this is my first harry potter fic
> 
> i fully support trans people. trans women are women, trans men are men. fuck jkr and her shitty transphobic mentality. i do not agree with anything she says.
> 
> there are mentions of child abuse, canonical character deaths, and blood in this, just to warn.
> 
> title from "two ghosts" by harry styles
> 
> i do not own the characters or anything, merely the plot

Umbridge lets him out of detention slightly earlier on the Wednesday of the second week. Harry suspects that this is because his hand is bleeding all over the parchment and quill. He merely says “good night” in a frighteningly even tone and doesn’t press anything to the back of his hand to stem the bleeding.

_ I must not tell lies. _

He moves past Ron and Hermione in the common room without even noticing, really, and hardly even blinks when Neville, Dean, and Seamus clear out of the dormitory as he comes in. He probably looks in a right state, with his bleeding hand and his heart thrumming weirdly in his chest. Something’s bubbling up under his skin.

_ I must not tell lies. _

It’s almost definitely his temper that’s surfacing. He’s been on such a short fuse lately, doesn’t know why. Suspects that maybe it has something to do with not processing Cedric’s death, those four weeks cut off from the wizarding world, the general incompetence of the Ministry, the frustration of being kept in the dark.

_ I must not tell lies. _

Harry sits down heavily on his bed, staring at the back of his right hand. He finally takes a spare shirt and wraps it around it, soaking up the blood, applying pressure to the wound.

_ I must not tell lies. _

He doesn’t even really know what to think. There’s just the dull hatred of Umbridge, the dull fear of Voldemort, the dull worry about Hagrid and Sirius. Dull. Dull. Dull.

_ I must not tell lies. _

The words are hidden now, under the fabric, but Harry still feels like he can see them, like they’re glowing up through the shirt. He isn’t--the worst part, the worst fucking part, is that even if he were to say something, the Ministry would probably say he deserved it. A fair few Hogwarts students would say the same thing. It’s not like the truth has mattered much, recently.

_ I must not tell lies. _

The blood’s slowed to a mere trickle, and Harry unwraps the shirt from around his hand. He can’t stop staring at it, staring at the words in his own handwriting, that he’s put there himself.

_ I must not tell lies. _

“Harry?”

Ron’s in the door, looking as if he’d lost the argument with Hermione over which of them would come up to check on him. “Hey, mate.”

“Hi,” Harry says listlessly, still staring at the back of his hand. Another scar, probably. Another one to mark him, to set him apart, another punishment, another reminder of hatred left permanently on his skin--

“Can I sit?”

Ron gestures to the space next to Harry on the bed. Harry lets his head fall back and hit the wall with a thunk. “Sure.”

Ron sits on his right side, looks at the hand Harry’s resting on his thigh. Harry holds the shirt over them for a second to catch the fresh blood.

“That can’t be legal,” Ron says when Harry takes the shirt away again and the words are visible. “That absolute--that toad, we’ll fight her over this--”

“Don’t,” Harry says. The lack of inflection in his voice is scaring even him. Everything inside of him feels like an extreme: dulled to the point of nonexistence or hyperaware and spilling over. “We can’t. Fighting her won’t work, certainly won’t make me feel any better.”

Ron’s quiet for a moment. He makes a brief motion toward Harry’s hand. “Can I--”

“Yeah, s’alright.” Harry holds his hand up and Ron takes it, very gently, in his fingers. Something sings in Harry at the touch, the contact. He feels suddenly and desperately lonely.

“How much does it hurt?” Ron asks. He isn’t touching the words themselves, but he’s got blood on the tips of his fingers now. Harry’s blood. Harry’s fault.

“Not much,” Harry lies.  _ I must not tell lies. _ The irony would be funny, in another life. “Stings, mostly.”

Ron makes a sort of humming noise. “Reckon I could get some bandages from Madam Pomfrey, ointment so it doesn’t get infected; Hermione’d probably whip up some healing solution.”

“You could,” Harry agrees. His voice is still completely flat. He’s terrified to let himself feel any of the emotions that are right on the tip of his tongue.

Ron looks him square in the face. “You’re starting to freak me out, mate. Sounds like you’ve been cursed, haven’t put anything on these cuts--”

“I’m not lying,” Harry says, and to his immense embarrassment it comes out thick and wet.

He’s not an easy crier, good at suppressing tears. Got really good at it those first ten years with the Dursleys. There were no comforting hands for him then. Nobody’s ever looked at him like Ron’s looking at him now, not even Hermione or Mrs. Weasley, and Harry’s never really been the best at reading people but even he can see the fight Ron’s having with himself.

“You can cry,” Ron says quietly. “It’s not--s’alright, to cry, I’m not--I wouldn’t--I won’t judge you for it.”

Harry closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“I’m not lying,” he says again, and his voice cracks, and suddenly Ron’s a lot closer and pulling Harry’s face into his chest.

“I know you’re not,” he says. His voice is comforting. Harry’s pressed sort of awkwardly against Ron’s front, and Ron is holding him so tightly it almost hurts, but it’s the least tense he’s felt in days. “I know you’re telling the truth. So does everyone who matters. And just--fuck what other people think, yeah?”

Harry laughs a bit, a little hiccuping laugh, and that breaks some sort of dam in his throat. He’s crying into Ron’s chest, can’t even be embarrassed about it because it feels so good to finally just cry, to let it all out. He never properly cried for Cedric, and here it is now, because a man--a boy--was murdered by Voldemort for no reason other than being with Harry, and it’s his fault, and nobody believes him that that’s how Cedric died. Nobody believes him that Voldemort’s back, and they aren’t safe. They aren’t safe. But Harry’s safe right now, with Ron’s arms around him. He’s felt safe with Ron since that first ride on the Hogwarts Express.

“Making a...right mess..of your shirt,” Harry says between sobs. Ron laughs a little and holds Harry even tighter. He’s gonna have bruises, maybe, from how hard Ron’s gripping him. Harry finds that he doesn’t mind the thought, doesn’t mind it at all.

“You think I give a damn about my shirt? I give a damn about you. No way you haven’t been, er, holding this all in for a while…”

“Cedric,” Harry gasps out. “I saw him die, fuck, Ron, I saw him die…”

“I know you did.”

“And I wasn’t--I wasn’t allowed to cry from ages one to eleven,” Harry says all in a rush, half hoping that Ron won’t hear.

Ron pauses for a moment. Harry can feel his breathing, tries to slow down his own sobs to match. “And that’s--Harry, you know that was super messed up of them, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles, very glad to be having this conversation with Ron’s chest rather than his face.

“I hate them too,” Ron says. His voice is soft but firm, full of conviction. “As much as I hate her. Maybe more.”

Harry cries harder at that, because Ron is maybe his very best friend in the entire world, who’s been with him through almost everything. Ron who believes him, and gets angry on his behalf. Ron who’s forcing Harry to confront some of his feelings, some of the sadness and anger about Cedric, about nearly dying, about the Dursleys. He honestly has no idea why the Dursleys are coming up now, and says that to Ron in between sobs.

“I reckon,” Ron says, “that it just finally got to be too much for you, mate. You’ve been dealing with all the shit life’s been throwing at you for years, and now you’re pissy all the time and haven’t had a good cry in forever. My mum always says there’s nothing wrong with a good cry.”

“If anyone deserves a good cry, it’s me,” Harry says into Ron’s shirt.

Ron lays his cheek on the top of Harry’s head. “Damn right, mate.”

Harry doesn’t know how long they’re there. After a while, he’s cried himself out and his face feels hot and sticky. They’ve sort of slid down to be awkwardly half-lying down. His hand is stinging again but it’s trapped under Ron’s side. “Ron, uh, my hand…”

“Shit, sorry.” Ron rolls away, off of Harry’s hand but also off of him altogether. Harry feels the loss more keenly than he should.

Harry looks at the back of his right hand.

_ I must not tell lies. _

“Will you--can you come back?” he asks, quietly enough that Ron can pretend he hasn’t heard. His eyes are sore and aching, his throat is dry, his heart feels like it might beat right out of his chest.

Ron swallows. Harry watches his Adam’s apple bob. “Yeah, sure, Harry.”

He crawls over to Harry, who’s lying with his back against the wall, and they’re lying down facing each other in this four-poster bed that’s not really meant for more than one fifteen-year-old boy. Harry’s still crying a little, because it’s very hard to stop when you’ve bottled up as much as he has, and Ron still puts his arms around him, and it’s the most settled and grounded that Harry’s felt for months.

It makes sense, honestly, when he thinks about it later. Harry’s never been well-versed in having friends, so of course he wouldn’t notice when maybe his feelings for Ron had slid over into something not entirely platonic. But it makes sense that he’s suddenly looking at Ron’s mouth, and Ron isn’t backing away, and it doesn’t feel odd or wrong at all when Harry kisses him.

Harry’s brain just kind of--shuts off. He’s kissing Ron, and Ron is kissing him, and Ron’s hand is on the back of his neck, and Harry’s trying desperately to lean into the touch but also kiss Ron harder at the same time. It’s excellent, is what it is, because Harry’s not thinking or worrying or getting angry, he’s just kissing Ron, and it feels good.

“Oh my god, Harry,” Ron gasps.

Harry’s right hand is tentatively brushing Ron’s cheek, his jaw, down his throat. The blood has dried but it’s still odd, to see what’s going to be a horrible scar doing something so tender.

“This is alright?” Harry asks quietly.

Ron brushes the last few tears off of Harry’s face with his thumb. “Better than alright. I’m--this feels--”

Harry kisses him again.

The bed isn’t quite meant for two teenage boys, one of whom is rapidly approaching being the tallest in their year, so they’re pressed flush against each other. They’re making out, really, and Harry feels like his entire body has caught dimly on fire, and they could definitely do more, but--

“We gotta,” Harry says breathlessly when Ron moves away from his mouth to kiss down the line of his throat instead. “We gotta--Neville, and them, and--”

“Yeah,” Ron says. His mouth is still pressed against Harry’s skin, and his breath is sending shivers all down Harry’s spine. “I don’t--”

Harry closes his eyes and breathes. His chest is the least tight it’s felt since he touched the Triwizard Cup and it moved. “We should--let’s take a rain check, how about that?”

Ron smiles against Harry’s collarbone. Harry desperately wants to take his shirt off. Both of them. He’s astonished that he’s never realized this before. “Rain check?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, grinning down at Ron. “It’s a thing they do in Muggle sports, if it’s raining too hard or whatever they postpone the match for another time.”

Ron looks down to where they’re pressed against each other. “Do we have to take a rain whatsit--”

“Other people sleep in this room,” Harry says through a laugh. “And it’s late, and I don’t want to be any more of an issue than I already am.”

“Fine,” Ron says, and goes as if to roll off of the bed, but he actually rolls onto Harry for a second, and Harry almost whines at how much he likes Ron’s solid weight on him. But--no--self-control, he’s totally got it--

Harry sits up with some difficulty and runs his left hand over his mouth. He’s sure they look suspicious, all flushed and kissed. There are still tear tracks on Harry’s face.

“Shall we just go to bed then?” Ron asks. He’s still looking at Harry’s mouth. It’s distracting.

Harry goes to run his right hand through his hair and winces.  _ I must not tell lies.  _ He comes back down to earth with a jolt. “Shit, yeah, probably, I just--bandages, uh…”

Ron stands up, very unwillingly. “I’ll go see if Fred and George have any. They’re bound to keep a bit of a supply, what with all of the experimenting they’ve been doing lately.”

“Okay.” Harry looks up at Ron.

“Oh, for god’s sake,” Ron mutters. He bends down and kisses Harry one last time. “I’m holding you to that rain check, though.”

Harry smiles. It’s the best he’s felt in a while. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> obv that would greatly affect the rest of ootp if this had happened but that's not my point here SO feel free to use your imagination
> 
> thank you for reading!! comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> find me on tumblr @bestfluteninja


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